


Therein Lies Madness

by DebbieF



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Deals with physical abuse, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-11
Updated: 2014-11-11
Packaged: 2018-02-25 01:29:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,973
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2603558
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DebbieF/pseuds/DebbieF
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>D'Art's first solo mission doesn't go as planned. Yeah (snorts) big surprise there, eh?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Therein Lies Madness

*Comte Rochefort’s office*

Slapping down a report on his desk, Rochefort shoved it toward d’Artagnan with one finger. He observed the young Musketeer glance down at it, cocking an eyebrow then look over to Treville who was standing silently nearby. “Athos, Porthos and Aramis are not on the grounds, correct Captain?” Rochefort directed his gaze on the other officer.

“I sent them away on a simple mission.” Treville was undecided as to whether he preferred the Cardinal to this man. The devil you knew was better to deal with than the devil you didn’t know. “Otherwise they’d wonder about this meeting and pester d’Artagna to death over it.”

“That’s why I asked,” Rochefort snapped. Looking the boy over, he smiled in satisfaction over something he only knew. “Oui, you’ll do.”

“For what? If it involves me do you not think I should have an informed opinion?” D’Artagnan too wasn’t sure what to make of this replacement for Richelieu. Up until now he hadn’t much contact with the comte for which he was grateful. D’Artagnan’s instincts told him to be wary of him. It was almost the exact feelings he had when dealing with the cardinal so he should be on his toes.

“I need you to read that report I had written up on Comte Delmon Bellanger,” he watched d’Artagnan finally pick it up. “I’ve found that he’s been in dire need of a good stable hand on his estate,” Rochefort pinned the youngster with a sharp look, “one that excels at handling horses.” He noticed the look the boy exchanged with Treville. “And yes, your captain spoke highly of your success with the animals. Something of a horse whisperer I believe Treville said,” Rochefort chuckled. “Plus...”

Halting further words from the comte's lips, d’Artagnan held up a hand. “Don’t tell me, I can guess,” he shook his head sadly as he observed Captain Treville’s lips quirk. “I’m a fresh face and no one will recognize me.” Seeing surprise register on Rochefort pleased d’Artagnan no end. In that respect he was one up on the man. Sending Treville an aggrieved look, d’Artagnan’s tone told its own story. “Really? That’s getting old don’t you think? Pretty soon you won’t be able to play that card any longer.”

“Until that day arises, young d’Artagnan,” Rochefort interjected, getting back on topic, “you fit the bill quite nicely.”

“You've given me a cover story but what am I to do with it?”

“You need to find anything connecting Bellanger to his plans for unseating King Louis,” Treville supplied.

“Do I use my own name?”

“Non,” Rochefort shook his head. “You’ll be known as Florian Carnal.”

Wrinkling his nose in distaste, d’Artagnan then laughed. “Don’t let Aramis hear that. He’ll give me grief over it later.”

“Oui,” Treville agreed. “I can hear Aramis now teasing by calling you a blooming flower.”

“Gentlemen, please,” Rochefort stabbed both men with an irritated look. “This is serious business.”

“No doubt about that,” Treville fired back. “A little levity now and then never hurt anyone.”

Smirking, d’Artagnan flipped through a few pages of the report. “Why hasn’t anything prior been done to this individual?”

“He is a crafty fellow,” Rochefort replied as he got up from behind his desk to look out a window, his back to the other men. There was something he held back from telling d’Artagnan but knew he had to so that the youngster understood the risks that would be involved. “None of the soldiers we have sent have ever returned.”

“That’s very comforting to hear,” d’Artagnan pursed his lips and glanced at his captain. “Athos will have a fit when he finds out, won’t he?”

“As far as Athos and the rest go,” Treville stepped forward and laid a hand on the lad’s shoulder, “I’ve sent you to deliver an important missive to one of my compatriots in Le Kremlin-bicetre.”

“That should satisfy them for awhile,” Rochefort remarked snidely.

“I don’t like your tone,” d’Artagnan couldn’t hold himself back any longer as his control snapped. “We are brothers and as such care for and worry about one another. Not so your Red Guards,” he snorted.

“Oh please,” Rochefort laughed, “you are so very young, d’Artagnan,” his voice very condescending.

“What is that supposed to mean?” In that moment d’Artagnan knew that he and the comte would never see eye to eye on anything.

“All for one and one for all,” Rochefort scoffed. “You'll find in the end it's every man for himself.”

“You would know this how?” D’Artagnan could see his captain was worried that he was about to challenge Rochefort over his words, but with a shake of his head d’Artagnan calmed Treville’s fears.

“I was once as you are now but have seen the light.” Rochefort knew his revealing words would stun the youngster, which they did. Taking advantage of having silenced d’Artagnan for the moment, Rochefort told the boy Bellanger’s location. “The comte’s estate lies north of Levallois-Perret.”

“I’m familiar with that area,” d’Artagnan paid attention, nodding his head. “We had been there a few months back on assignment.”

“Excellent,” Rochefort was pleased to see that d’Artagnan would not get lost along the way and held his tongue from saying that to the boy since he could see the embers still smoldering in the Gascon’s eyes. Holding out a piece of paper he gave it to d’Artagnan. “That’s your letter of reference for the post you will be applying for.”

Reading it quickly, d’Artagnan frowned. “Won’t I get into trouble if the comte does check up on this and finds out it’s false?”

“Not to worry, d’Artagnan,” Rochefort re-claimed his seat at the desk, leaning back in his chair to study the young man in front of him. “If Bellanger decides to follow up on that reference he’ll just get a reply from myself, as the address on it belongs to an estate I have nearby.”

“You’ve thought this out for awhile haven’t you,” Treville had niggling doubts about this mission but didn’t want to embarrass d’Artagnan by saying he wouldn’t allow him to go.

“Oui,” Rochefort pointed at the boy. “I had to wait for the right opportunity along with the right person for the job.”

“When do I leave?”

“You’ve time enough to get something to eat, lad,” Treville smiled. “Bring whatever you need with you except, of course, your uniform.”

“Naturally,” d’Artagnan’s eyes sparkled as he was excited to do his first undercover assignment for the king.

++++

*Delmon Bellanger’s estate*

Observing his new stable hand, Bellanger’s eyes narrowed. The boy couldn’t be more than eighteen or nineteen years of age yet he had come highly recommended. Well he’ll keep an eye on him for awhile to see if he worked out. 

As days passed by, the more he watched the young man work with his horses, Bellanger had a sense of deja vu. “Pierre,” he whispered to himself. But he knew it couldn’t be for his son had been dead these past four years. Still, the resemblance was uncanny. Perhaps he and the boy could become close in time.

++++

For his part, d’Artagnan was in his element taking care of the horses. The estate retainers he had met thus far have been very welcoming but at first they had reacted quite oddly upon his arrival. It was like they had seen a ghost but they quickly recovered and it had passed. But it did leave him curious as to their reaction.

His days were spent pleasantly and d’Artagnan was careful how he questioned the others that ran the estate, the one thing he did not need was to draw unwanted attention his way while he ferreted Bellanger’s plot out.

Though d’Artagnan was surprised when after only a week there he was called up to the manor house. Secretly he worried that Comte Bellanger found out who he was but he didn’t think that was the case because he knew he hadn’t slipped up anywhere. And there certainly wasn’t anyone around that would recognize him as being a Musketeer. So with slight trepidation filling him, d’Artagnan walked up to the door and was let in by Didier, a very old retainer of the comtes.

No sooner than d’Artagnan had entered the house, he was greeted by Bellanger himself. “Ah, Florian,” the comte smiled in welcome. “I wanted to tell you how pleased I am with your work.”

“I haven’t been here long enough to prove my worth, sir.”

“I disagree, Pierre,” Bellanger paused as he realized that wasn't what he meant to say as his eyes glazed over, seeing things that weren't truly there.

Wondering why the comte had called him by that name, d’Artagnan didn’t bother to correct him. He was startled though when he suddenly felt the man’s hand on the back of his neck. D’Artagnan stiffened slightly as Bellanger’s hand tightened uncomfortably. “I’m sure you’ll please me, my son.”

Unsure if he needed to reply, d’Artagnan was positive he’d have marks left by the comte’s hand once he was released. That didn’t seem to be the case though as d’Artagnan found himself being shaken like a rag doll and Bellanger began yelling at him.

“Why? Why did you do it, Pierre?” Bellanger screamed as he mercilessly shook the boy.

“Comte Bellanger, please, sir!” d’Artagnan cried out in shock. Not wanting to cause the man an injury, he tried to push him away. But the comte proved stronger than he appeared as Bellanger shoved d’Artagnan hard against the wall.

Grabbing the youngster by the throat Bellanger squeezed brutally, marking d’Artagnan’s tender skin.

Feeling his air supply being slowly cut off, d’Artagnan felt light headed as his vision began to grey out. Now would have been good for a timely rescue from his friends, but they had no idea where he was.

Just as suddenly as the attack began... it ended. Bellanger released the young man, turned and walked away as if nothing untoward had ever happened.

Rubbing at his abused throat, d’Artagnan winced as he tried to swallow. Thinking to himself, he wondered if he should just leave and head back to the garrison but didn’t want to go empty handed. Then again he enjoyed breathing too. Weighing the pros and cons up, d’Artagnan decided since he was already in the house he’d take advantage of it.

++++

Finding himself in the master den, d’Artagnan walked over to a desk and looked through some of the drawers. There was one that he found locked and that was probably the one where he’d find what he needed. Prying it open with a dagger he kept hidden in one of his boots, d’Artagnan was rewarded for his efforts by locating papers implicating Bellanger’s involvement with other factions to overthrow King Louis’s reign. Tucking them inside his shirt, d’Artagnan quietly slipped out of the room and safely made his way out of the house.

++++

Back in the stable, d’Artagnan was grooming the horses when a heavy hand fell on his shoulder spinning him around so fast he lost his balance and fell against a post in the stall. The horse he had been working on nervously danced away from him as d’Artagnan faced an enraged Bellanger.

“Why did you turn away from me, Pierre?” Bellanger shouted, his face was nearly blood red from his fury as he ripped d’Artagnan’s shirt half off his back. With a riding quirt in his right hand he brought it down hard as he whipped the boy until d’Artagnan had enough and reached out to stop him.

Grabbing the comte’s arm, d’Artagnan managed to keep the man from delivering another blow. “Please, Comte, no more!” he yelled, trying to reach wherever Bellanger’s mind had taken him too. For d’Artagnan realized that when the comte looked at him he was actually seeing someone else.

With a powerful thrust of his arm, Bellanger slapped d’Artagnan full in the face, knocking the youngster sideways, cutting his lip in the process.

Wanting badly to know who this *Pierrre* was but understanding if he wanted to save his own skin he better get the hell out of here. So d’Artagnan managed to roll away out of the comte’s reach, making a mad dash over to his own horse. Not having time to saddle Zad, d’Artagnan rode bareback, it wasn’t like he hadn’t done it before but it was a distance to Paris from the estate. Knowing he didn’t really have a choice in the matter he urged Zad out of the barn, hearing Bellanger’s enraged screams behind him. Now he understood Rochefort's words of warning about the disappearance of his men.

++++

*Hours later, early evening - Musketeer garrison, Comte Rochefort’s office*

As soon as he arrived, d’Artagnan’s first thought was to deliver the incriminating evidence straight to Rochefort before seeing Captain Treville and to his own needs.

It hadn’t escaped Rochefort’s notice that d’Artagnan looked rather worse for wear. One side of the boy’s face was thoroughly bruised along with a split lip. But since the boy acted as if it was of no concern, who was he to remark upon it. “It certainly didn’t take you as long as I thought,” Rochefort eyed the boy approvingly. “I look forward to us working on other assignments in the future.”

Staring into the young man’s eyes, Rochefort could see pain reflected there. He wondered if that’s why d’Artagnan was so quiet. He certainly was quite vocal before he sent him on this mission. Then again he knew about Bellanger’s madness and that he let d’Artagnan walk into that situation unarmed with that knowledge. What conscience he had left made him apologize. “I am sorry for whatever you went through to obtain this information but know that this will have saved the king’s life.”

“You knew?” d’Artagnan croaked, his voice sounded like cracked glass. The sore muscles around his neck screamed in protest, making it nearly impossible for him to talk comfortably, less alone even swallow.

Wincing at the sound d’Artagnan made, Rochefort had the grace to look repentant. “Oui,” he was not used to being on the receiving end of an icy glare from a Musketeer but he would make an exception in this case. “I had made use of some information that fell into my hands about Bellanger’s only child.”

Hanging his head down, d’Artagnan just knew who it was and whispered, “Pierre.”

“Oui,” Rochefort reluctantly admitted. “From all accounts you resembled his son to a certain degree.”

Guessing the rest, not needing to hear anything further, d’Artagnan knew he had been used in more ways than one. Now he understood some of the reactions he had received during his short stay on the estate. “May I leave?” D’Artagnan struggled to get the words out and when Rochefort gave him an abrupt nod, he turned smartly away and left.

++++

*Aramis’s apartment*

Having found out that Athos and Porthos were with Captain Treville, d’Artagnan made his way to Aramis’s home. Being the healer of their group was the only reason he would expose his injuries to his friend. He did not ever want to appear weak or considered the poor, little Gascon farm boy in front of his friends or the rest of the regiment. Knocking on the marksman’s door he called out softly. “Aramis?”

Opening his door, Aramis was delighted upon seeing their youngest. “D’Artagnan, I must say it is good to see you, mon ami!” Ushering the boy inside Aramis settled an arm around d’Artagnan’s shoulder. “How went the mission?” Then as he turned the young man around he gasped as d’Artagnan’s face came into full view. The candlelight danced upon the boy’s bruised flesh which had begun to turn various shades of glorious color. “Mon dieu! What happened?” Stepping forward Aramis gently touched d’Artagnan’s face with one hand, while the finger of the other tapped delicately on the boy's split lip. “Explain,” he snapped in anger that anyone dared to lay a hand on their young one in this manner.

And d’Artagnan did the best he could with abused muscles straining to the max to fill Aramis in on what had gone down over at Bellanger’s. He was beyond tired and wished only for a bed to lay his head upon but knew that would not be the case as Aramis would have to tend his many injuries.

Parting d’Artagnan’s shirt, Aramis’s deft fingers traced the raw bruising on the lad’s throat that trailed downward. “I have a salve that should help,” he turned away to go retrieve it. When he returned Aramis pushed the youngster gently into a chair. While applying the salve he frowned. “Treville has to be informed you know.”

“Non! I’ll tell him I fell off my horse or something,” d’Artagnan muttered as he ran a hand through his hair.

“I repeat, the captain needs to hear about this,” Aramis tutted. “Rochefort can’t get away with using you as he did.”

“You’re just upset that I was sent off on my own,” d’Artagnan argued. “Not because I had a little mishap,” he sighed. “Besides, it’s over and done with. Let it be, Aramis.” He winced as the back of the chair pressed against his aching back. Knowing his friend's sharp eyes wouldn’t have missed his discomfort, d’Artagnan refused to look at him.

“D’Artagnan?”

“Leave it,” d’Artagnan snarled.

Of course that was like waving a red flag in front of a bull. Aramis disregarded the lad’s warning and rolled d’Artagnan’s shirt upward and swore. “Merde! What did Bellanger use?”

“Riding quirt,” d’Artagnan whispered.

“When Athos sees...”

“NON!” d’Artagnan shouted and then regretted it instantly as horrendous pain made itself known. Swallowing hard he watched Aramis wince at the sound he made. “I don’t want him to see this,” he hissed.

Staring over the youngster’s head, Aramis then glanced downward and tipped d’Artagnan’s chin up with a finger. “Too late.”

Eyes widened in alarm, d’Artagnan slowly turned his head to the left where Athos and Porthos stood in the entrance. “How much did you hear?”

“Not nearly as much as I’d like,” Athos snapped as he approached the boy. 

Rising off his chair, d’Artagnan faced his mentor as Athos drew close, reaching out to turn his face to the left to appraise the damage done.

Eyes kindled like fire when Athos saw the vivid bruises around d’Artagnan’s throat. When Aramis’s showed him d’Artagnan’s back, Athos’s eyes watered as he pulled the young man into a gentle embrace.

Resting his chin on top of his friend’s shoulder, d’Artagnan’s painful puffs of breath ghosted across Athos’s neck. He refused to let his tears fall but it was hard not to do so in the comfort of his brother’s arms.

Pulling away, Athos held the child firmly by both arms, eliciting a hissing pain from their young one. “What? What is it, d’Artagnan?”

Staring into Aramis’s concerned eyes once more, d’Artagnan rolled up his sleeves. A clucking nose was all that Aramis made as he reached for his salve once more to place on the offensive bruises.

“Is Comte Bellanger alive?” Athos asked, trying to remain calm but his blood boiled at the treatment d’Artagnan had received.

“Oui,” d’Artagnan said softly.

“Not for long,” Porthos growled as he laid a large hand tenderly on top of the lad’s head.

“The comte is mentally unstable, Athos,” d’Artagnan managed to say, adding, “after the loss of his son.”

“Which Rochefort failed to tell us,” Treville announced as he strode in the room, angrier than he had felt in a long time. “And if I had known I would have never sanctioned this mission!” Seeing the poor shape d’Artagnan was in he felt guiltier than ever. “It’s a wonder you escaped him alive.”

“What aren’t you sayin?” Porthos knew the captain well and could tell there was something more wrong.

“Bellanger murdered his son because the boy rebelled against him. Pierre didn’t agree with his father’s plan to usurp the king.”

“Anyone care for a glass of wine?” Aramis announced as he braced himself on the edge of the table after hearing the captain's news. “I somehow feel we could all use it.”

“I am going to kill Rochefort!” Athos growled.

“Don’t, Athos, please!” d’Artagnan gave him his best hurt puppy look. “Some of our past missions haven’t gone exactly to plan either.”

“Oui,” Athos’s features were grim. “But then again there were four of us. You were entirely on your own.”

“He did accomplish his assignment,” Aramis hummed as he continued to rub salve into d’Artagnan’s skin after making sure he filled everyone's glasses.

“Never again,” Athos warned with a finger, “do you go by yourself!”

“Captain,” d’Artagnan turned pleading eyes on the officer.

“I know you can handle yourself, son, but I’m not capable of controlling these three when you get injured,” Treville’s gaze encompassed the entire group. “It’s not worth it.”

Hanging his head in defeat, d’Artagnan was not pleased.

“Rochefort better count himself lucky I don’t call him out,” Athos remarked as he winced along with the boy as Aramis tended to d’Artagnan’s back.

“He was pleased with me and wants to work together again,” d’Artagnan offered. “That doesn’t mean I trust him as far as I can throw him. But I have to show King Louis I can do my job and that his trust is not misplaced in me.”

Rubbing his chin, Treville’s eyebrows rose at this piece of news. “He does, does he,” his blue eyes darkened. “Rochefort will have to go through me first.”

“And us second,” Porthos added.

“I’d like to go to bed and sleep for a week,” d’Artagnan’s eyes began to droop. Then he felt a light kiss to the top of his head. Opening his eyes back up he saw Aramis grinning as the man brushed d’Artagnan’s hair out of his eyes.

Next Porthos followed through with a warm hug, being careful of d’Artagnan’s injured back, placing a kiss to the child’s temple then stepping back.

Standing up, d’Artagnan faced Athos as they leaned toward one another, touching foreheads. “There was a point where I thought I wouldn’t get away from him,” he admitted quietly and felt Athos kiss his forehead.

“You did though,” Athos’s blue eyes shone with pride as he knew they always would where his young friend was concerned. “I said you would be the best of us and I meant it.”

“Best at getting kidnapped and hurt you mean,” d’Artagnan snorted, making fun of himself.

“Don’t put words in my mouth, lad.” Athos could see the youngster was dead on his feet and cocked a brow at Aramis. “I think we should let you rest and when you wake up we’ll feed you with Serge’s best.”

“Sounds good,” d’Artagnan mumbled, half asleep already. He felt his body being steered into the spare bedroom. Porthos helped him out of his clothes and Aramis gave him a spare nightshirt. Making sure their young charge was tucked in they quietly left him to his rest.

“I still say you should skewer Rochefort just for the fun of it,” Porthos laughed but could tell Treville was not amused at his suggestion.

“Do you not think if I could get away with it I would,” Athos snapped. “If it weren’t for the fact that Bellanger is in his own manner of hell I’d be back there like a shot to finish him.”

“Gents,” Treville interrupted, “Let us be vigilant in all things pertaining to Comte Rochefort, eh? It’s not like you are not aware of his rather shady past.”

“Right,” Porthos agreed. “We’ll just make sure that whatever agenda he has planned for our boy that we three come along.”

“No matter that good ole Rochefort doesn’t like it,” Aramis laughed.

“Sounds like a more than capable plan to me,” Athos grinned as they all held up their wine glasses to seal their resolve.

The End

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Therein Lies Madness by Debbie - Podfic](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3129734) by [M_LadyinWaiting (Tanis)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tanis/pseuds/M_LadyinWaiting)




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